Forget Past For New Worlds

The disorientation was absolute. Colors swirled and twisted, morphing into a kaleidoscope of blinding light and impossible shapes. Alex felt like a ragdoll caught in a cosmic washing machine, his stomach churning with every violent twist and turn. Then, with a sudden, sickening lurch, the chaos subsided.

He found himself suspended in a void, a warm, viscous darkness clinging to him like a second skin. Below, a faint luminescence pulsed, beckoning him closer. As he descended, the light grew brighter, revealing a swirling vortex. Its edges shimmered with an otherworldly energy, crackling with raw power.

Is that… my character?

A figure stood before the vortex—a hulking silhouette both familiar and unsettlingly different. It was Acomalaka, his in-game avatar, clad in the meticulously crafted gear he'd spent countless hours perfecting. The weathered leather and enchanted metal glinted faintly in the alien light. But something was off. The pixelated edges, once a hallmark of the digital world, were gone. Acomalaka looked… real.

Before Alex could process the impossibility of it all, an irresistible force yanked him toward the vortex. He braced himself for impact, but there was none. Instead, he felt a searing heat, a sensation of being ripped apart and stitched back together in one agonizing instant.

A gasp escaped his lips, the sound foreign in this unnatural environment. Disorientation gave way to primal panic as he realized he was no longer suspended in the void. He was inside Acomalaka's body.

He could feel the weight of the armor on his broad shoulders, the worn grip of the staff clutched in his hand. A surge of exhilaration battled with a sickening sense of vertigo. He was no longer a gamer staring at a screen; he was Acomalaka, a seasoned Sage standing on the precipice of a new and terrifying reality.

"What… what have you done?" he rasped, his voice unfamiliar in his own ears.

Kiara's voice, a chilling whisper, echoed in his mind, disembodied yet clear as day.

"Welcome to the true world, Alex. Welcome to what lies beyond The Old Quest."

The warm embrace of the void gave way to a chilling rush of wind as Alex, now fully inhabiting Acomalaka's body, was ejected from the swirling vortex. Disoriented and freefalling, he tumbled through a cerulean expanse, the familiar world of The Old Quest rushing toward him at an alarming pace. Below, rolling green hills stretched as far as the eye could see, dotted with quaint villages and imposing fortresses he'd spent countless hours exploring. But the idyllic landscape did little to quell the rising panic in his chest.

The thought of impact flashed through his mind, a stark contrast to the countless, consequence-free falls he'd experienced in-game. This time, the ground wouldn't simply reset. This time, it could mean a very real death.

Instinct, honed through months of virtual battles, kicked in. Acomalaka's memories, now his own, surged forward. He remembered a specific spell, a desperate maneuver whispered about in hushed tones on obscure forums: Gust of Slow Descent. With a silent plea, he channeled his remaining mana, the familiar blue energy tingling through his veins.

Whoosh. A gentle breeze materialized around him, slowing his descent from a plummeting fall to a controlled glide. Relief washed over him, so intense it momentarily eclipsed the strangeness of his situation. He was alive—at least for now.

As he neared the ground, he spotted a familiar landmark—a towering oak tree that marked the outskirts of the village of Elara, a peaceful haven he'd frequented for in-game supplies. With renewed determination, he steered Acomalaka toward the giant oak, aiming for a soft landing in its shade.

The touch of earth beneath his feet was surprisingly solid, sending a jolt of grounding through his newly acquired body. He deactivated the Gust of Slow Descent, his breathing ragged but victorious. Glancing around, he confirmed his suspicions—he was indeed standing in the familiar clearing beneath the ancient oak, just outside the village of Elara.

But something was different. The world, once a collection of pixels and polygons, was now vibrantly real. The scent of damp earth mingled with the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, and the gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the oak tree, casting flickering patterns of light and shadow on the ground. A sense of awe washed over him, a stark contrast to the digital world's sterile perfection.

He looked down at his hands, encased in Acomalaka's weathered leather gloves. They felt rough and real, the kind of wear and tear that came not from repetitive in-game grinding, but from countless battles and hard-won victories. A thrill shot through him, a mix of fear and exhilaration. He was no longer a gamer observing a world; he was a part of it, and the consequences of his actions were now real.

A discordant note, however, snagged on his newfound wonder. Acomalaka, his avatar, was renowned for his gleaming Meteorite armor—a testament to countless hours of grinding and rare material hunts. Yet, here he stood, clad in basic leather.

A flicker of confusion crossed his face. "Wait," he muttered, his voice rough with disuse. "Shouldn't I have the Meteorite armor? Why am I in leather?"

As if summoned by his thought, Kiara's voice echoed in his mind, laced with amusement.

"Well, well," she rasped, "it looks like you're starting from scratch, God of Grinding. No more overpowered gear, no more maxed-out skills. It's a new game, Alex, and this time, it's for real."

"Well, f***k you!" he screamed, the sound echoing through the clearing. The defiance in his voice was laced with a hint of despair. He lifted his middle finger, a futile gesture he knew wouldn't reach Kiara, and thrust it skyward in a show of defiance.

Alex's rage slowly subsided, replaced by a chilling wave of uncertainty. He slumped down against the rough bark of the ancient oak, the once-familiar clearing feeling alien under the weight of his new reality. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze seemed mockingly serene in the face of his predicament.

A million questions swirled in his head. Where did he begin? Who could he trust in this strange, real version of The Old Quest? Were the NPCs—the non-playable characters he'd spent countless hours interacting with—even sentient in this new world?

His gaze drifted toward the village of Elara in the distance. Smoke curled from chimneys, a peaceful scene that somehow felt unsettling. Were the villagers—the blacksmith who'd tirelessly repaired his gear, the cheerful baker who'd always offered a warm smile—still the same friendly faces he remembered, or were they something more?

A tentative plan began to form in his mind. Information was key. He needed to understand what had happened, what this new reality was, and, most importantly, where his lost equipment might be. Elara, with its familiar faces and routines, seemed like the safest place to start.

With a deep breath, Alex pushed himself to his feet, the leather armor creaking in protest. He brushed a speck of dirt from his worn cloak, a small gesture that grounded him in this new reality. He was no longer the invincible Acomalaka, but Alex, a stranger in a world he thought he knew.

Stepping out from the shade of the oak, he set his sights on the village of Elara, a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach. The once-predictable path ahead was now shrouded in uncertainty, and the first step into this new world was about to be taken.

The air hung heavy with the scent of wood smoke and freshly baked bread as Alex entered Elara. Cobblestone streets wound their way through quaint, timber-framed houses, their windows adorned with colorful flower boxes. Children's laughter echoed down the street, a sound both familiar and unsettling.

He spotted his target right away—a young boy, no older than eight, sitting on a doorstep, engrossed in a pile of what looked like smooth, black marbles. Curiosity piqued. These weren't your typical child's playthings. Alex recognized them instantly: Void Shards, crafting materials that could fetch a hefty price in the game. But were they valuable here, in this new reality?

A mischievous glint sparked in Alex's eyes. This was his first opportunity to navigate this strange new world—and a chance to potentially reacquire some semblance of his lost power. He approached the boy cautiously, a practiced smile plastered on his face.

"Hey there, young fella," he said, his voice a touch too friendly. "Those look like some interesting marbles you have there."

The boy, with a mop of unruly brown hair and a chipped front tooth, looked up at Alex with wide, innocent eyes.

"Oh yeah! An adventurer gave me these!"

A small window materialized in the corner of Alex's vision, displaying a detailed description of the object:

Void Shard (x60). Rare crafting materials used in powerful enchantments.

This confirmed his suspicions. Void Shards were valuable even in this new world. A plan began to form in his mind.

"Really? How many do you have?"

"I have sooo much!" The boy enthusiastically dumped the pile of Void Shards at his feet. The window beside the pile displayed the quantity: 60.

"Hey, I have this glove," Alex said, taking off one of his leather gloves. The worn leather held the faint scent of countless battles. "This is cool, you know?"

"Really!?" The boy's eyes widened with excitement.

"This is used by a legendary…" Alex stopped, trying to come up with a story. Kiara's words echoed in his mind: God of Grinding.

Unsure of how well it would translate, he added, "Used by a legendary God of Grinding."

"Wow!?" the boy gasped, clearly impressed.

Alex chuckled, a hint of his old charm returning. "Well, a legendary God of Grinding wouldn't need these anymore, would they? How about we trade? You give me some of those Void Shards, and I'll give you this cool glove—a piece of history from a true adventurer."

The boy's eyes darted between the worn leather glove and the pile of Void Shards. The allure of possessing a legendary item was evident, but the usefulness of the shards was undeniable. He chewed on his bottom lip, deep in contemplation.

"Hmmm," he mumbled, the chipped tooth peeking out as he pondered. "The glove is cool, mister, but these shards can make some really neat stuff. Maybe…" He trailed off, a mischievous glint replacing the earlier awe. "Maybe you could show me a cool trick with your legendary glove first? Like a magic one!"

Alex's smile faltered slightly. A magic trick with a regular leather glove? He hadn't planned on that. His gaze darted around, searching for inspiration. Suddenly, a memory surfaced—a simple parlor trick he'd learned as a child, one that relied on sleight of hand rather than magic.

With a renewed grin, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small pebble, unnoticed by the boy. Casually, he slipped the pebble into the palm concealed by the glove.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, playing to the boy's enthusiasm. "Here's a trick only legendary adventurers know." He held up his gloved hand, the pebble hidden within.

"Watch closely," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "With a flick of the wrist and a secret word, I can make this pebble vanish into thin air!"

The boy leaned forward, his eyes wide with anticipation. Alex, his heart pounding a little faster than necessary, flicked his wrist as if performing a flourish. Simultaneously, he subtly transferred the pebble to his other hand, keeping it concealed.

"And poof!" he declared, dramatically opening his gloved palm to reveal… nothing. The boy's jaw dropped.

"Wow! You really are a legendary adventurer!" he exclaimed, thoroughly impressed. "Alright, the Shards are yours! But can I try the trick too?"

Alex casually slipped the pebble into the glove-covered palm, lifting it from his shoulders. "Sure, kid," he said, a genuine smile returning to his face. "But it only works with a legendary glove, remember?"

The boy's face fell slightly, but he quickly recovered, clutching the worn leather prize. "Okay, that's alright! I still have some shards left, and maybe someday I'll find a legendary glove of my own!"

He beamed at Alex, then dashed off down the street, his collection of Void Shards clutched tightly in one hand and the legendary (though not quite) glove in the other.

***

Alex tucked the pouch of Void Shards into his worn leather jerkin, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. The kid had practically begged to be relieved of them, and Alex, with a quick bit of sleight of hand and a childhood parlor trick, had walked away with a decent haul.

He continued down the cobblestone streets of Elara, the weight of his situation pressing down on him despite the small victory. The cheerful clang of the blacksmith's hammer echoed through the air, a sound that once brought comfort. Now, it only served as a bitter reminder of his lost Meteorite armor—the pinnacle of his in-game achievements.

"What a dumb kid," Alex muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "Why would some adventurer even give him that many Void Shards?"

The question lingered in the air. In the game, Void Shards were rare and valuable, dropped only from high-level quests and challenging boss battles. But here, in this unsettlingly real version of Elara, it seemed even a random adventurer could hand them out to children like candy. Had their value diminished in this world, or was there something else at play?

Reaching the village square, Alex paused, taking in the bustling scene. Children chased each other around the central fountain, their laughter bouncing off the timber-framed buildings. Shopkeepers called out to passersby, their voices a familiar melody that now felt strangely foreign.

A pang of loneliness struck him. These were people he'd interacted with countless times in the game, their routines and personalities etched into his memory. Yet, here they were, seemingly oblivious to his true identity—a gamer trapped in a warrior's body.

His gaze drifted to the familiar blacksmith's shop, and his steps slowed. The crooked sign above the door—a crossed hammer and anvil—swayed gently in the breeze. Hesitating for a moment, Alex pushed the door open, the rusty hinges groaning in protest.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of hot metal and burning coal. A burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard stood hunched over an anvil, hammering a piece of glowing iron with rhythmic precision. It was Baldor, the village blacksmith—the same Baldor who'd repaired Alex's gear countless times in The Old Quest.

"Baldor?" Alex called out, his voice rough from disuse.

The blacksmith paused mid-swing, the hammer hovering inches above the red-hot metal. He squinted at Alex, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Stranger," Baldor finally rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. "Don't recall seein' you 'round Elara before. What brings you to my forge?"

Alex felt a lump form in his throat. Baldor didn't recognize him. Not after all the times they'd interacted, all the repairs and upgrades he'd requested. Was it him, or was there something different about this Baldor—a subtle shift in his demeanor, a flicker of something unfamiliar in his eyes?

He glanced down at his worn leather jerkin, a far cry from the gleaming Meteorite armor he'd once worn. It was a flimsy excuse, but it was all he could muster under Baldor's scrutinizing gaze.

The blacksmith grunted, eyeing Alex skeptically. "Leather, huh? Not much of an adventurer, are ya? Most 'round here prefer good, sturdy steel."

"Yeah, well," Alex fumbled, "I'm just starting out. Need something basic for now."

Baldor studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably. Finally, with a curt nod, he gestured toward a stack of metal plates by the forge. "Alright, stranger. Let's see what you need. But keep in mind, good work ain't cheap."

Alex hesitated, then reached into his jerkin and pulled out the pouch of Void Shards. He carefully untied the drawstring, revealing the dark, glistening stones within.

"I've got these," he said hesitantly, placing the pouch on the counter with a soft thud.

Baldor's eyes narrowed as they fell on the Void Shards. A flicker of surprise—or maybe recognition—crossed his face before he schooled his expression into gruff neutrality.

"Void Shards," he rumbled, his voice low and thoughtful. "Don't see many of those 'round here anymore. What're you lookin' to do with 'em?"

"I was hoping you could use them to… enhance some basic steel armor," Alex stammered, unsure of the blacksmith's reaction. "Enchant it, maybe? To level V, if possible."

Baldor leaned back against the anvil, a considering look in his eyes. "Heh," he finally chuckled, a low rumble that surprised Alex. "Not a bad idea, lad. Seems you know a thing or two about these Shards, even if you're new to Elara. Enchantin' basic steel to level V with a Void Shard… that'd make for some sturdy armor, no doubt."

"How much will it cost for the armor?" Alex asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.

Baldor stroked his beard thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on the pouch of Void Shards. "Hmm. A full set of enchanted steel armor, level V… that's a fair bit of work. You want a weapon too, I reckon?"

"Yeah," Alex replied hesitantly. "Something like a… Sage Box. Can you make that?"

Baldor raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "A Sage Box, eh? Not many folks ask for those these days. Not exactly common. But for a Void Shard and a bit of elbow grease, I can whip one up for ya."

He paused, tapping a calloused finger on the anvil. "Altogether, that'll be… forty-five Void Shards. Consider it a fair discount, eh?"

Alex's jaw dropped. Forty-five Void Shards? That was a hefty chunk of his newfound wealth, but the prospect of a full set of enchanted armor—even basic steel—eclipsed his initial reservations.

"Forty-five?" he echoed, trying to mask the tremor in his voice. "That's… a lot."

Baldor chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed to shake the floor. "Top-notch materials, top-notch enchantment—you get what you pay for, lad. Besides," he leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "Void Shards ain't exactly common 'round here anymore. You're gettin' a good deal."

Alex hesitated, his fingers brushing against the pouch of Void Shards at his hip. He still had a handful left after his earlier trade, but the thought of depleting his resources so quickly gnawed at him. Was this the best use for them?

As if sensing his doubt, Baldor thumped a massive hand on the anvil. "Tell ya what," he said. "I'll give you the armor first. It's the only set of basic steel I've got ready for enchantin'. As for the Sage Box," he winked, a surprising glint in his eye, "come back in two days. I'll have somethin' special for ya by then."

Relief washed over Alex, so intense it nearly made him lightheaded. Armor, even without the Sage Box, was a massive upgrade. He could deal with waiting for his preferred weapon.

"Alright," he said, a grin spreading across his face. "You've got a deal." He untied the pouch and carefully counted out forty-five Void Shards, placing them on the counter with a clinking sound.

Baldor scooped them up with a grunt, his gaze lingering on the pouch for a moment longer than necessary. Then, with practiced ease, he hefted a nearby breastplate and tossed it onto the worktable.

"Alright, stranger," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Let's turn that fancy Shard of yours into somethin' worth wearin'."

Baldor strode toward a rack overflowing with armor, the rhythmic clang of his boots echoing through the forge. Alex watched with a mix of anticipation and trepidation as the blacksmith sifted through the metal, his weathered fingers brushing against leather, chainmail, and finally, steel.

With a grunt of satisfaction, Baldor pulled out a full set of gleaming steel armor. The light from the furnace danced across its smooth surface, highlighting the intricate engravings on the breastplate. Alex's breath hitched. Even without the Meteorite armor of his dreams, this was a far cry from the basic leather jerkin he'd been wearing.

"Here ya go," Baldor rumbled, holding up the armor for Alex's inspection. "A full set of basic steel. Strong enough to deflect most blows, light enough for a nimble adventurer like yourself."

He placed the armor on the worktable with a metallic clang. The weight of the individual pieces—the breastplate, greaves, gauntlets, and helmet—felt reassuringly solid in Alex's mind, a stark contrast to the flimsy leather he'd grown accustomed to.

But a flicker of doubt crossed his face. "Baldor," he started, "you said it was level V enchanted. How can I tell?"

Baldor chuckled, a low rumble that seemed to emanate from deep within his chest. "Ah, lad, a true warrior can feel the magic in their armor. This here?" He tapped the breastplate. "It practically hums with power. Trust me, a level V enchantment ain't somethin' you see—it's somethin' you feel."

Alex hesitantly reached out and touched the breastplate. A faint tingle ran through his fingertips, a subtle energy pulsing beneath the cold metal. It wasn't the overwhelming magic he'd experienced in the game, but it was there—undeniable. A spark of hope surged through him. Maybe Baldor was right. Maybe this new world didn't rely on flashy displays of power, but on something deeper, something real.

Then Baldor reached for a sheet of parchment and dipped a quill in ink. "What's your name, stranger? Gotta mark this down as yours."

The question hung heavy in the air. Alex hesitated. His character name, Acomalaka, felt childish and out of place in this new reality. With a deep breath, he decided on honesty.

"Alex," he said, meeting the blacksmith's gaze. "My name's Alex."

Suddenly, a jolt of shock ran through him as a translucent window materialized in the air before him, its edges shimmering with an otherworldly light. The familiar font, stark against the worn parchment Baldor held, sent a shiver down his spine.

[Welcome, Alex. Player rewards would be…]

The text scrolled down, but Alex couldn't tear his eyes away from the top line. Player? Rewards? Was this some kind of twisted joke? He looked around frantically, but the window seemed to exist only for him, a holographic inscription floating in the air.

[Gathering information…]

The words pulsed, then faded. Panic clawed at Alex's throat. Information about what? About him being a player trapped in this world?

[Race selection!]

A new line blazed to life, followed by a single, stark option:

[GOD RACE]

Alex stared, his mind reeling. God Race? Was this some cruel illusion? A reminder of the power he'd lost, the in-game avatar he could never truly be? He glanced back at Baldor, who was oblivious to the window, still scribbling on his parchment.

A chilling possibility gripped him. What if the game and reality were more intertwined than he'd ever imagined? What if being summoned as a player meant he was somehow… destined to become a God Race? But how? And what did it even mean?

His breath hitched as a new line materialized below the race selection:

[Would you like to claim your reward?]

A primal fear battled with morbid curiosity within him. Claiming the reward—whatever it entailed—could solidify his place in this strange new world. But could it also be a trap, a one-way ticket to becoming something he wasn't, something he couldn't control?

Alex glanced at the gleaming armor on the table, a symbol of a new beginning in this reality. Then he looked back at the window, a stark reminder of his past. The choice loomed before him, heavy and inescapable.

< Chapter 2 > Fin.